A House of Mute Rebuke

Two mops and a broom
Lean against the wall
Of a room that looks
In need of sweeping
And mopping but soon.

What, no closet? No
Utility room
To stash them? Or did
You plan to use them
And now leave them out

To remind yourself
You shouldn’t forget?
Your life is littered
With such reminders,
The DIY scolds

And nags of a soul
Who’s mostly alone
With no one to poke
At you to do chores.
House of mute rebukes

Is what you call home.
Well, not really home.
Roof over your head.
You’d prefer an inn,
Each day swept again.